


Reap; to Harvest or Receive

by umbrafix



Series: Things that ought to have been in the series but were tragically left out [7]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode Tag, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9572807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbrafix/pseuds/umbrafix
Summary: A collection of missing scenes from episode 4.4, Harvest, focusing on Morse, DeBryn and Thursday





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the pub quiz that Morse gets dragged along to :)

“One might think, from the expression on your face, that this was a particularly barbaric form of torture.”

 

The pub was rowdy, everyone taking advantage of the fifteen-minute break in the quiz to get a round in and give a friendly heckle to the team at the nearest table. Trewlove and Strange were up at the bar, but the crowd around it was three-deep so Morse predicted they might be a while.

 

DeBryn was sat off to the left of Morse, observing the people in the room. After a moment, he spoke again. “How did you get roped into this, anyway?”

 

Morse finally looked his way, grimacing. “I’d forgotten about it. I’m not actually sure I ever agreed to it, but Strange apparently…”

 

“Decided on your behalf.” DeBryn’s lips quirked. “I see. Still, better to be invited to such things than passed over.”

 

“Is it?” Morse asked. “I could be at home with a drink and a good book.”

 

“I believe you’ll find alcohol is also served in this establishment,” DeBryn said dryly, and Morse gave a brief smile in response. “And hopefully our company is not so dull as all that.”

 

Morse gave a half shrug in lieu of an answer. “I think Strange thought the questions would be… I don’t know.”

 

“Ah, rather than a fascinating analysis of the participants of the World Cup in the last ten years?”

 

DeBryn smiled openly as Morse’s lips curled in thinly veiled disgust.

 

“It would be boring if you knew all the answers, Morse. This way you might learn something.” Morse snorted. “Failing that, enjoy being in the company of your fellow man. And woman,” DeBryn added with a nod in the direction of the bar.

 

“You never know,” Morse said, and drained the last of his pint, “someone might still be murdered.”

 

“Over a quiz? I’ve heard of stupider motives, to be sure, and admittedly things do tend to get quite heated.” DeBryn considered. “Why don’t you just leave,” he said. “I’ll say you weren’t feeling well.”

 

Someone bumped into the back of Morse as they maneuverered past, and he ducked away too slowly to avoid the slosh of lager onto the shoulder of his jacket. It seeped through, wet and cold. He sighed, and turned back to DeBryn.

 

“No,” he said. “I’ll stay.” To be honest, for all his objections he wasn’t particularly desperate to go home. His flat had become a place to sit and dwell endlessly on his visit to Joan; it was impossible to be there and not be swept into that mood.

 

“Good,” said DeBryn, pulling him back to the present. When Morse looked askance at him, “Well, I didn’t come for Detective Sergeant Strange’s company. The girl, Trewlove isn’t it, is nice enough, but she barely speaks two words together.”

 

Morse frowned at that – he’d always found Trewlove rather vocal with her opinions, not afraid to speak up at all. It was true she’d been quieter tonight - aside from hissed whispers of guessed answers - but he’d assumed she was just a bit off today.

 

“Usually she’s quite friendly,” he said eventually.

 

DeBryn assessed him with shrewd eyes. “Is she?”

 

Morse refrained from rolling his eyes at the mild implication, and instead asked, “Why did you come, then?”

 

DeBryn settled back in his chair and cast his eyes over the room again. “Oh, I do enjoy a good pub quiz,” he said. “I’ve a regular team, and we go every Wednesday at my local. When DS Strange suggested this, I thought it might be good fun.” Morse stared at him. “Admittedly, my usual focuses a lot more on local and national history.”

 

Now Morse’s lips twitched in amusement. “Didn’t stop you knowing all the answers about that soap - Coronation Street.”

 

DeBryn took off his glasses and cleaned them industriously on a cloth he pulled out of his pocket. “My mother,” he said, and Morse nodded. “Oh, look, they’ve made it to the front.”

 

Morse turned to see Strange’s broad shoulders and the slight blond form beside him as they leaned over the bar to make their order.

 

“I find,” DeBryn said as Morse faced him again, “that as I get older friends are few and far between. Lack of contact, lack of inclination.”

 

Morse hmmed.

 

“So when I find people I can stand the company of, I’m not averse to getting to know them better.”

 

“We’ve known each other for years,” Morse said, unthinking.

 

DeBryn gave him a brief, unreadable look.

 

“There is such a thing as outside the work environment, Morse,” he said.

 

Morse opened his mouth to make a quick reply and then shut it again, a wave of embarrassment catching him unawares. He suddenly remembered times the pathologist had casually mentioned that he was planning on going to such and such a pub after work, which at the time Morse had taken as small talk and brushed aside. While he got on well enough with DeBryn, he’d never counted him a friend, and had never realised the other man was making an attempt.

 

He leaned back in his chair, and cleared his throat. “Well. This isn’t so bad.” Morse gestured with his empty glass, as though to encompass the whole situation, and DeBryn’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline before his face fell into a wry smile.

 

“If you’re genuinely interested in quizzes, Morse, we’ll try you somewhere else next time.” His eyes moved over Morse’s shoulder. “Here they are, then,” he said, and Strange and Trewlove re-joined them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set right after the grenade goes off at the power plant

It was just as well that Thursday was there to deal with Nigel Warren, because after the bang of the grenade Morse was so disoriented that he couldn’t even move for a minute.

 

“Morse? Morse.”

 

A hand gripped his shoulder, and his head was raised enough to see the black leather of Thursday’s shoes enter the side of his vision. The stitching was worn, he noticed, and the material scuffed - much like Morse’s own shoes usually were. Thursday’s tended to be in better shape though; Mrs Thursday usually polished them.

 

“Can you hear me?”

 

He could just about make out the vibration of Thursday’s voice through the high pitched ringing in his ears, a sound which went on and on and made it seem as though no time had passed; as though this was still the moment that the grenade had gone off.

 

“You, stay there!” This was much louder, barked in a direction somewhere behind Morse, and Morse winced at the volume.

 

Thursday crouched beside him, and this time Morse turned his head, brought his hands underneath him to push up. “Steady there. Nice and slow, now.”

 

He made it onto hands and knees, the taste of dust chalky in his mouth as he licked his lips. Rocking backwards, he let out a low noise as the motion made his head pitch and yaw. A slight shuffle sideways, and he hit the nearest wall. The concrete was cold and hard, and felt wonderful against his right side. He swallowed compulsively against the urge to vomit, and breathed carefully in and out through his nose.

 

“There, now,” he made out against the ongoing din in his ears, the words fading in and out. “Nasty blow to the head. Let’s have a look at it.”

 

Morse muttered a protest and jerked his head away as chapped fingers slid from cheekbone to temple, prodding the edge of the wound. He forced his eyes open, only then realizing they’d closed, and found Thursday’s face, grey and shocked.

 

“Uh,” he managed, and lifted his own hand to probe at his head.

 

“You alright?” Thursday asked, eying the rest of him. Morse found himself watching Thursday’s lips to try and make out the shape of the words. “Nothing broken?”

 

As though suddenly reminded of what had occurred, Morse’s head swung around to the right - the drum he’d dropped the grenade into had had its lid blasted clean off. Beside it, sprawled uncomfortably on the floor, lay their hitchhiker with his hands cuffed behind his back. There was a shoeprint outlined in dust on the back of the man’s coat.

 

Morse pushed himself up, back instinctively finding the wall to slide himself up against it. Thursday’s hands remained slightly outreached, hovering, as though he didn’t have any great estimation of Morse’s steadiness. Morse grimaced, wetting his lips again, and braced himself against the wall for a moment.

 

“That was quick thinking,” Thursday said.

 

Morse shook his head, raised a hand to his ear as though to try and clear the persistent tones from it.  

 

“Ears ringing, are they? Mine too.” Belatedly it occurred to Morse that Thursday had to be speaking louder than normal, for all that Morse could barely hear him. “Reminds me of… well, never mind.”

 

Morse took a breath, and straightened out of his hunched over position. He raised his own voice a little louder so that Thursday could hear him. “You should get him out of here.”

 

Thursday’s eyes assessed him. “I’ll wait for a bit,” he finally said. Then, with a glance over his shoulder, “This one’s not going anywhere.”

 

There was the sound of muffled cursing from the floor over by the drum.

 

“I’m alright,” Morse said. “Really.”

 

He felt the slow, sticky slide of blood down the side of his face.

 

“Course you are,” said Thursday roughly. “Nothing more to be done at the moment though – they’ll have called the police.”

 

And there had been no sirens yet – at least not that they’d heard. Morse found himself unable to estimate how much time had passed since they’d had arrived, whether it had been five minutes or twenty.

 

The ringing in his ears went on, and on.

 

He pushed away from the wall, feeling the world warp and resettle around him, and pulled his lips back in an attempt at a smile.

 

He saw rather than heard Thursday’s sigh.

 

“Alright, then, let’s go.”

 

They went out the fire escape, Thursday wrangling a struggling Warren in front while Morse followed behind at first - joining in with trying to contain the man when he got out of hand. Morse got a couple of hard kicks to the shins for his trouble, and by the time they’d got down the short flight of metal stairs he thought he might throw up.

 

“We’ll stop here,” said Thursday, “they’ll find us easily enough.”

 

Morse sat on the fire escape without being prompted, the cold metal grill biting through the material of his trousers. He tried to even out his breathing and ran his hands through his hair, grimacing as it tugged against the wound.

 

Beyond the ringing, everything else seemed strangely quiet and still. Muffled. Nothing moved, the usually busy factory emptied and abandoned.

 

At least they’d done a good job at the evacuation, Morse thought.

 

Maybe a minute later the piercing wail of sirens blended with the regular howling in his ears, synergizing into an awful cacophony of noise. From the strained expression on Thursday’s face, he was experiencing something similar. Morse forced himself up again, and they pushed on across the yard until they hit the main building and met the flow of officers spilling out of the cars.

 

“Sit yourself down,” Thursday said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode coda, after we see Morse find the medal and badge in the office

“Think I wouldn’t know?”

 

Morse looked up at the sound of Thursday’s voice, finding his dark form outlined in the doorway to the office. Thursday stood there, silent, waiting.

 

Morse looked down again, ran his thumb over the ridge of the red case in his hand. After a moment he hefted it, holding it out for Thursday to see.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“George Medal. For special services. But then,” and Thursday took two steps into the room, “you knew that.”

 

Morse nodded, head tilted down towards the medal. “You too?” he asked.

 

Thursday snorted. “I had a proper visit, and everything.” Hesitated. “I got to take Win with me, though it was all very hush hush, of course.”

 

Morse couldn’t see his face properly in the darkness. Thursday had made no move to turn on the light.

 

“She must have enjoyed that,” Morse said cautiously.

 

There was the slightest easing of tension in the air, as though Thursday had breathed out all of a sudden. “She did at that. Got to wear her finest.”

 

Morse’s brow creased as he thought of Joan in the hospital bed. Of Mrs Thursday getting dressed up to go to Buckingham Palace while she had no idea of her daughter lying there.

 

“And this?” Morse hefted the slim wallet containing his new official identification.  _Detective Sergeant_.

 

“Reckon you know what that is too,” Thursday said.

 

“Why?”

 

“Humpf. I don’t think anyone here is going to argue with the queen.”

 

“That’s not what I meant.”

 

“It’s the truth, though. Mr Bright got a letter, about both of us.”

 

Carefully, Morse put the case and the identification down. The two items stood stark against the emptiness of the table.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“I haven’t seen you,” Thursday said reasonably. But then here he was, late on a Saturday night after a long trip into London. It was no coincidence. “I thought it would be better in person,” he added, as though reading Morse’s thoughts.

 

An abrupt laugh was all Morse could manage, his lips failing to fit into the groove of a smile.

 

“Did you think I wouldn’t know?” Thursday asked again, the same question as when he’d come in, only now Morse knew that it hadn’t been about the medal at all.

 

“You didn’t say anything,” Morse said quietly, and turned to lean against the desk, crossing his arms.

 

Thursday took a step further into the room, his face suddenly lit by the streetlight from outside. Serious, Morse saw. Intent.

 

“No,” Thursday said. He’d taken his hat off, now he tapped it against his thigh in a rhythm Morse couldn’t quite make out. “Better not to, I thought.”

 

Morse nodded, thoughts pitching down a multitude of paths.

 

“Who do you think told Strange about the job?” Thursday asked, and Morse’s eyes jerked towards him.

 

“But-“

 

“I know what you said, before. About taking a stand. But it’s not right – not for someone with your…” Thursday’s speech lapsed, and he appeared to consider his words. The dim yellowed lighting made the hollows on his face look like bruises. “Thought you might want another chance, that’s all. A proper one.”

 

Morse waited a beat. Two. Then, “I set up a meeting, for Monday.”

 

“I know.”

 

“It  _was_  goodbye, in your office.”

 

Thursday sighed. “I know that too. Subterfuge isn’t your strong suit, Morse.”

 

Morse nodded once, quickly.

 

“And now?” Thursday asked after a moment.

 

Morse’s uncertain exhale sounded loud in the room. “I don’t know,” he said. “It wasn’t something I wanted, but once I started thinking of it – a clean break…”

 

Thursday stood solemn, grave. “No one would blame you if you did move on. And I know the man – or I’d not have recommended you. You’d do well enough there.”

 

“Well enough?” asked Morse.

 

Thursday’s lips twitched. “Well enough if you can keep your lip to yourself,” he said dryly, and Morse smiled.

 

Morse picked up the wallet again, opened it and ran his fingers over the words. “Detective Sergeant.”

 

Thursday stayed silent.

 

“I thought I’d…”  _Feel more. Be more satisfied_.

 

“You deserve it. We all know that.”

 

Morse hummed, flipped the ID closed and fingered it for a moment.

 

He thought of Joan, lying against the starched white hospital linens. Of Thursday, without Morse here to back him up, and of DeBryn’s face as he’d said in the pub that friends were few and far between nowadays.

 

He thought of driving the Jag along Oxford’s streets, and of the dreaming spires above.

 

\-----------------------------

 

The End

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, what a great series! I had so much fun with all of these :)


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